Cold and Dark
by PrescientRain
Summary: When you run away on Christmas Eve, you aren't expecting to be assaulted by a blizzard. Little do you realize that something far worse rests within the shrouded skies, and he has plans that make death by snow seem appealing. Apprehended by the boogeyman himself, you must find a way to escape his menacing lair- but it's looking like it's at a cost you aren't willing to pay...
1. A Storm

**Background info:**  
_It is present day, only 2 days until Christmas. Earlier this morning you got into another fight with your parents and foolishly ran away-with nothing. Along the road a blizzard suddenly appears, and you are stranded._  
_Little do you know who's waiting within the snow..._

It is a bitterly cold night. Tiny flakes of snow falling in insane amounts flutter around you like a plague, blinding you so that even the area directly in front of you is a blur. You trudge through banks of knee-high snow, white and impassable, with nothing but a thin, soaking-wet sweatshirt on. The cold bites easily through it, frosting your skin in a layer of ice. You can feel the hairs on your arms uncomfortably sticking straight up, nearly puncturing the material with a billion tiny holes.  
The temperature is at most 20 degrees, probably less, and you figure it won't be long before you're either forced to curl up in a foxhole or die from the cold.

You pause. On second thought, either way you'll die. Not like the snow would do much to keep you warm with a sweatshirt that was wet and would just absorb more melted snow.  
You sigh with nervousness, your breath coming out as foggy little icicles. You can imagine what the news will say tomorrow, the surprise and shock on your parents' and friends' faces.

"_, age 16, died in a freak blizzard when she stupidly ran away from home in the middle of winter without so much as a coat."  
You roll your eyes, shaking and shivering with every step.

"This is ridiculous," you mumble. "Of course this comes out of nowhere. Of course! And of course it has to happen today- when I finally decide to get out of here, and now here I am- in the middle of a dang blizzard!"  
You want to scream, but even if you do it's unlikely you'll hear yourself over the intense roar if the storm. And that's the point, isn't it? To hear yourself letting your anger out?  
Instead, you growl, angrily kicking the snow though it does little.  
You can't believe how stupid you are. "Who in their right mind runs away without a coat in the middle of winter? Or without anything else for that matter?" you think to yourself.  
The blizzard continues to pound you, and you can feel yourself freezing. You can't tell if you still have toes- you can't feel them anymore when you try to move them. Or your fingers, even though they are securely locked in a nest of wet sweatshirt in your crossed arms. Like that helps.

You keep your head down, but it does little for you- you don't even have a hood.

It's nothing short of a miracle that you are still alive.  
You scold yourself relentlessly, but in time decide that it would be best to at least think about how to get out of this. Your options are limited, but there has to be something. Anything. You've already wasted this much time cursing about your fate.  
Like a lightbulb, it dawns on you.

"There's got to be a patrol around here somewhere."

Because of your location and previous blizzard deaths, the town decided to send out patrols to search for anyone lost in storms like this.  
With a small hope to hold on to, you feel your energy boost and you pick up speed, if only slightly. If you're to see the patrol, you'll have to keep your head up.

Cringing, you lift it into the freezing winds. You feel it burning your cheeks with ice, and you could swear there's icicles on your nose-like that Snow Miser from "The Year Without a Santa Clause". That was always your least favorite Christmas special, although its close to your favorite now. It used to scare you when you were little, though for what reason two misers were scary to a 4 year old is beyond you.  
Your favorite special is on tomorrow. The story of Jack Frost and his endeavors with the girl he liked so much. You used to love him, but now you aren't so sure.  
You sigh sadly. Christmas Eve is tomorrow.

"How selfish I am," you think to yourself. Then you shake your head again. You would've slapped yourself if your hands could've moved that far.

"Focus!" You coach yourself.  
You peer through your frozen lashes, looking for any blobs or color that aren't white.  
For what seems like a lifetime, you see nothing. You're losing hope, and fast. For every second you're out here, you get colder, your body gets more numb with each slow step.  
You are ready to cry, to collapse and die...  
But then you see something!  
A tall, seemingly black figure only a few feet away!  
You nearly squeal in happiness. This is it! You will survive!

"Hey!" You shout as loudly as you can manage. Your teeth chatter uncontrollably; your cheeks are red and your lips blue.  
"Hey! Can you hear me? I need help!"  
You watch closely. The figure begins to move towards you- but not fast. In fact, it's moving even slower than you are, and it's clearly more able-bodied than you.  
The thought disturbs you, a slight feeling of fear slowly coming over you.

"If it's a patrol, wouldn't it want to help me? It'd be rushing towards me by now."  
You yourself slow as the figure approaches. Suddenly, like a spell, you become completely frozen in your tracks, unable to move, but whether that is because of the storm or the man, you can't be sure.  
The storm ceases, but only around him, and now, as he is just 2 feet from you, you too.  
You decide, with great reluctance, that it is the man.  
You watch as his unnerving black lips curl into a sinister smile, framed by two piercing yellow eyes and a wide nose. His skin is blacker than coal, tinted with shades of gray. His hand sweeps across his body in an introductory fashion as he mockingly bows.

"Hello, my dear."

His voice is sleek and smooth, carrying tones of undeniable evil and wretchedness. Without another thought, you know that his life has been spent on creating suffering among others. You can almost see visions of him strangling and suffocating happiness, crushing dreams and replacing them with scarring nightmares that would haunt for life.  
You've never felt so afraid. This man makes Freddy Kreuger look like a mouse; Jason a bunny and his sword a feather. You feel the horror from every second of your life spent being afraid rushing onto you now, a pressure so great you feel you might explode. He is the original fear. The very root of it; the essence of everything that scares anyone. You remember being afraid of someone like this when you were little. Illusions and shadows playing across your bedroom walls; noises in the closet.  
You cannot speak, cannot do anything as he stretches his black hand out to you. Usually a welcoming gesture, but it is far from it.

"Come now, we can be the best of friends."

You back away swiftly, a few of your instincts kicking in despite what your mind says.  
"W-who are you?"  
You barely manage to speak through the mental layers of darkness around you.

The man clucks his tongue disapprovingly, slicking his hair back and grinning slyly.  
"I think you know. After all, you used to believe in me once. It appears...you do again."  
He disappears.

For a moment you panic, and then, as if slipping from space, a cloud of swirling black dust flies at you with speed greater than a jet plane. Its particles sting your eyes, and everything you've ever feared appears before you.  
Men with knives and guns, terrifying bloody faces with soulless eyes, feral packs of animals slavering viscous fluids. With wind even fiercer than the raging snowstorm you had just escaped from the particles blow around you, tearing and whipping at your hair and clothes. You can't even scream, too afraid and helpless. You never thought you'd wish you were back in that snowstorm.  
You feel a sense of dark, brutal coldness looming over your shoulder as it finally stops. Not natural coldness like that of the snowstorm or winter, but a new, eerily unfamiliar coldness that is evil and burns full malice.  
You bury your head in your hands, collapsing to the snow covered ground. You sob uncontrollably, sounding much like a two year old once again.

You hear footsteps, deliberate and steady, approaching you from behind like a stalking black shadow in a dark alley.  
He has become solid again, and you wince in fear as he leans into your ear, his malicious breath cascading onto your neck.

"So tell me..."  
He brushes his pointed nails across your frozen cheek, leaving faint black scratches, the flesh instantly becoming colder. You didn't think that was possible.  
"Who am I?"

Your squeeze your eyes shut, streams of tears caressing your face uncomfortably. You resist the urge to run, for you know it will be in vain. He has you. Your one and only hope is to obey him, as terrible and dangerous as that is.

"Y-you're...the boogeyman. Y-y-"  
He laughs lowly, chilling you to the bone and freezing you mid sentence.

"Yes...my dear..."  
He creates a turbulent tornado of the black dust again, made up of ashen horses galloping in a death dance, whispering and screaming nightmares into your ears in varying pitches.  
Their ears fold menacingly back onto their heads; their black teeth glisten with drops of red; their eyes hurt to look at.  
You scream as the darkness forcibly overwhelms you, you hear the whinnies of the angry horses and laughs of the boogeyman. A name that until now carried little weight besides a good laugh.  
The final thing you hear before you completely lose your consciousness and most likely your sanity:

"I am Pitch Black."

Your world becomes just that.

_**Author's Note: **_

_**Hope you enjoyed this first chapter! It was actually originally written months ago and posted at that time on deviantart. As I recently picked it up again, I decided to post it here. Please review! :)**_


	2. Favor

You awaken in a daze. Your head hurts terribly, drumming to the dull music of fear's lament. You struggle to breathe in the muggy air, each breath feeling like an intake of sludge. You feel extremely ill and keep seeing visions of death in your mind; making you question what has really happened to you. Everything feels like a blur, as if you've just stepped off the spinning teacups in an amusement park.  
Which parts are real? Which are the nightmares?

It takes a few moments for your eyes to adjust, your pupils dilating uncomfortably.  
When they finally do, you observe the most likely vast area around you. This is definitely no amusement park, whatever this is.

You are in a dark prison cell, thick black bars surrounding you, enclosing you into a confined and irritatingly small space. Oddly, there is open space on all sides outside of the cell and no walls at all. Nothing but black, foggy space with dark shadows creeping inside the mist. To focus on such shadows is to wish insanity upon yourself, so you try to ignore them.  
There is a small, eerie blue light on your left, but that's it. You can't make out what it is, the shape obscured by the layers of darkness.  
After massaging your temples, you huff out a deep breath, hugging your arms tightly.

"Great. Just great," you think sarcastically.  
You are in the dead center of the cell.  
Uncomfortable from being in the same position for however long you were out, you lift yourself up, steadily and cautiously getting to your feet.  
Your body aches in protest, but you fight through it, coming to a full standing position.

"Now," you think, "to find out what that is."

You begin walking towards the blue light, your steps slow and cautious. While it is a stupid plan, its all you have at the moment. Wherever you are, it is clearly dangerous. To proceed without great amounts of caution would surely sign your death warrant, bury you, and put a tombstone on your grave.  
"I wonder what the epitaph would say."  
Your mind led astray, you scarcely notice that your cell has begun to move.  
It rocks slowly and subtly at first...

"WOAH!"

You scream as it pitches violently back and forth, as if a turbulent wind has suddenly come upon it.

"This is no cell at all," you realize, struggling to stand.

You manage to steal a glance upwards.

It is, in fact, a cage- hung from the ceiling by thick silver chains. You can only imagine how far the drop to the bottom is. You don't want to know.

As the space around you twists and convulses in dark shapes, you begin to hear unidentifiable whispers, preaching monologues of sadness and fear; last moments spent uttering words in suffering. You cringe, throwing your hands over your ears and forcing yourself to lay down.  
The swinging steadily slows, and a laugh, all too familiar, replaces it.

"What's the matter, afraid of the dark?"

From the shaded shadows of black Pitch appears, a grin rooted into his angular face like it was tattooed there. His eyes shine brightly in the black, but just make it more unnerving. You force yourself to look at him, trying not to show any signs of weakness. An impossible feat.

"No. I'm not afraid of you."

Your voice sounds weak even to you.  
Pitch laughs tauntingly, his voice raspy and eerie.

"Now now, we both know that isn't true. If you weren't afraid of me, then you wouldn't be here."  
Your eyebrows furrow, your mind baffled.

"What...do you mean?"  
He laughs once more, absentmindedly playing with a swirl of black nightmare dust in his palm. Although it isn't aimed at you, you know it very well could be at any moment.

"If you didn't believe in me, then how would you see me? Would I be tangible to you?"  
He shakes his head. "No."

You shiver uncontrollably, the evil coldness creeping up your arms and onto your face. You have goosebumps all over, just from the sound of his voice.  
"But why would you tell me that?", you try. "If I stop believing in you, I can get out of here."

His smile only grows wider. You've fallen into his trap, set to make you despair further.  
"But you won't. You can't. You're too afraid- too weak."

Like a snake he slithers up to you, forcing your chin up with his hand so your eyes meet his directly. You struggle, but his grip is stronger than a vise.  
"You're mine now. And I'll need a little favor."

He disappears into dust, reappearing behind you only seconds later. He is standing by the side of the cage with the blue light, staring out into the black.

"What's that?"

"Oh, this?"  
He says it like its insignificant, but you know that it must be. He motions towards it.  
"The favor I'm asking of you. That light is in fact, a person."

You gulp heavily, your forehead beginning to bead with sweat. What could he possibly want you to do?  
"Who?"

Pitch turns slightly to you, a smirk gracing his face slyly.  
"No matter. You'll see soon enough. What I need you to do is convince him to work for me."

"What?"

Pitch sighs irritably, stroking his hair back like you'd seen him do earlier.  
"He's a...stubborn fellow. I need him to help me complete my mission. He refuses every time I ask, but now that you're here..."  
He slinks up next to you again, forcing you to your feet with his dark, nightmarish dust.  
"...that's all going to change."

Your eyes grow wide; you grit your teeth.  
"I won't do it."  
You almost want to slap yourself. "Brave words for someone so helpless," you think.  
Pitch's smile turns into a serious expression, much more suiting to his demeanor.

"Oh yes, I believe you will. If you don't..."  
He flicks his wrists outwards, and the lights, eerily lit with hues of red the color of blood, snap on.  
You gasp in horror.

The lights illuminate countless other cages, all similar to yours.  
There's just one difference.  
The people in those cages are long dead.  
Skeletal hands still claw at the bars, desperately clenching them in hopes of an escape that never came. Bits of flesh are still attached in places, a sickening sight that almost causes you to vomit. You hear moans and cries, pleas and lost hopes in a dull roar.  
"Please! Make it stop!"  
You begin sobbing again. There's simply no way he can be beaten. It is undoubtedly the most devastating conclusion you've ever come to.  
You can almost taste the satisfaction on his face as returns the room to its former darkness, stepping towards you.  
He grabs your face again, pulling it inches away from his. All humor is devoid.

"You WILL help me."

A definitive command. All you can do is nod, tears forming again.  
"Just tell me what to do," you mumble regretfully.

"There, that's the spirit."  
He reaches into his black, robe-like outfit, resembling a funeral shroud in many ways. A long and characteristically black garment, torn on the edges as if attacked by some rabid animal.

"Give him this."  
He tosses you something. Instinctively, you reach for it, it's smooth surface hitting your palms hard.

"What is this?"  
It is small and as black as Pitch is, nightmare dust swirling within. Yellow glints and disturbing noises fill your ears every few seconds.

"That is essence."

"Essence?"  
Perplexed, you stare down at it. The dust swirls in and out, violently merging and disconnecting like a jigsaw puzzle gone wild. Slowly, you think you begin to understand what it is.  
"You mean...your essence? What makes you Pitch."  
He nods.

"A mere bit of it. That orb is meant to contain more than one person's essence. With his essence combined with mine...we will be unstoppable."  
The mere thought of such a thing gives you chills.

"Who could possibly make you more powerful?"

"Another person thought to be myth. Most of them protect elements that I have no interest in. But he has something I need."  
You hesitate to ask your next question, but as you don't know if you'll ever see the sun again, you feel a few risks are okay to take.

"What's that?"

He turns to you, staring you down like a mouse in a trap. You aren't far from that.  
"He is cold. I have seen our powers combined once before. He can freeze my nightmares, make them permanent. As of right now he knows only physical frost, but I have confidence mental frost is within his reaches. I can destroy dreams, but they are always reborn quicker than I can send more nightmares. He is the key to their survival."

"...you've told him all of this?"  
Pitch nods slightly again, crossing his arms and returning to staring intently at the light.

"Yes. He thinks it is wrong. He believes dreams are important, necessary. But we will change his mind. Whether I have to take extreme measures to make him do so, well...that's up to you two."  
You sit in dead silence. The tension in the cage is great, and you're determined to not be the one to break it. You fear what will happen if you do.  
Luckily, he is the one to make a move. Not that that is a good thing, considering he is so malicious he wouldn't hesitate to change his mind and destroy you.  
He turns away from the light, stepping up to you intimidatingly.  
He begins a swirl of dust in his right palm, and this time you know that it's aimed at you.  
You look at him fearfully.

"Ready or not," he says.  
You shut your eyes as the dust overtakes you.

_**Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed! Please review! :)**_


	3. Jack Frost

For the second time in one day, you blink open your weary eyes in an unfamiliar and dismal place. You are quite sick of it, but at least you know you're still in Pitch's lair. Not that that is at all a comforting thought.

You cautiously begin to peel yourself off of the ground with more effort than was usually necessary. As you sit up, you pull off loose threads from your clothing, stuck to the metal like little hairs.

"It's frozen," you think. Whoever is in here is definitely powerful. You can see why Pitch wants his cooperation. You shudder at the thought of this coldness combined with such deep darkness. That would create something virtually inescapable, a pit of everlasting nightmares as Pitch so kindly described.  
Your head still a pounding mess, you rub your temples and prop yourself up with one hand, shivering as the flesh sticks slightly to the icy floor.

"Hello?"  
You call into the inky darkness. While your cell was pitch black, this one is lit slightly blue. The light from before.  
It's faded blue radiance creates shadows in the dark, and you can't help but feel watched. You suspect that it is the case.  
No immediate response comes.

"Heloooo?"  
You try again.  
You squint, trying to see further in to the unknown. You gulp nervously when you see movement amongst the eerie shadows, a figure walking in the blackish blue light. It remains just out of your sight, standing on the brink of black. Or is it simply your imagination toying with you?

"Who are you?"  
A boy's voice, definitely not imaginary. He sounds young, probably a teenager if you had to guess.

"My name is _," you say warily. "Who are you?"  
He shuffles, seemingly twirling something long in his hands. You fear what that could be, any manner of destructive weapon.  
"But Pitch said he was reluctant to join him, right? That's why I'm here," you reassure yourself. But alas, it is possible that they are both power hungry individuals in a fight to be the most dominant. That wouldn't surprise you.

Despite your suspicions, you continue to watch as two vague hands shove themselves into a deep hoodie pocket. Their black, creeping claws tuck themselves securely into the folds of material. At least, that's what your mind tells you they are. You aren't sure if you can trust your own senses in here, where reality is twisted and distorted into potent nightmares.  
"I'm not sure I should tell you." He says. "Why are you here? What do you want?"

You have to think fast. Truth or lie, a story that you can play with in several directions.  
"I'm here because of Pitch. I want to get out of here."  
There. Simple and vague enough, easy to manipulate if necessary. Still, you can't help but feel guilty. You aren't sure if he's an enemy yet.

"Really? Why would Pitch send you to my cell unless he thought you could help him?"  
You barely see him as he shakes his head.  
"No, save the lies. What's the truth?"

For a moment, all you can do is stare. Who is this boy? How is he so clever? Can he see right through you?  
His eyes, though you can't see them, bore intently into you, searching for the truth. You're sure he can tell the difference.  
"The truth is..." you begin. Should you tell him?  
"Well...Pitch sent me here to get you to join him."

You fearfully glance at the area around you, afraid that at any moment Pitch would appear and kill you on the spot. To your relief, nothing but aroused, slinking shadows whisper in the dank. You fear the moment when he does find out.  
An exasperated sigh from the boy ensues your explanation.

"Hate to tell you you've come for nothing. And besides, do you really want that?"  
You shake your head immediately.

"No, I don't. But he threatened my life."  
He seems to think for a moment, aimlessly looking around. He twirls the object again, and this time you can tell that it is taller than he is, with a long, round, and hooked end. A stick?  
You notice no puffs of condensed breath come from his mouth. Odd.

"Is that all that matters? Your life? What about mine? Did you bother to ask what would happen to me?"  
You feel your jaw drop. His words hit home, and hard. How could you be so selfish? Yes, you felt- you feel- guilty, so why didn't you ask?

"I...I don't even know you. I don't know if you're good or evil."  
A small, gentle laugh.

"But maybe you do. Have I attempted to kill you or harm you? And you can't see me, so how do you know?"  
"I don't recognize your voice."

"Perhaps not. But...perhaps you recognize a memory."

You bite your lip in thought, tilting your head like a curious puppy. "A memory? What do you mean? Why so cryptic?"

He laughs again, a sweet sound, and you swear you can see little flakes of snow cascading down to the floor. You think it's rather pretty, actually, a familiar comfort in the midst of evil. You're pretty sure this boy is no threat.

"Why so cryptic? I just like to have fun."  
If you could see through the dark, you bet he'd be winking or smiling. He sounded like he really did want to have a good time, even though his tone earlier was quite serious.  
"Just think for a second. Anything unexplainable happen to you, let's say, about a year ago?"  
His question throws you slightly off guard. You rack your brain, but it doesn't take long for the prominent and miraculous memory to surface.  
You feel your hand shoot to your mouth in surprise.

About one year ago, you were in a terrible car accident. The taxi driver slipped on an ice coated road, losing control of the car in the process. As it spun wildly, you screamed for help, the only person besides him in the cab. By what you presumed was a miracle, something saved you.  
Your window flew open, the cold winds shooting around your face. No one believed you afterwards, but you could've sworn you felt someone pull you out and safely onto the ground. Whatever it was- if there even was something there-it saved you. The driver wasn't so lucky, and died in the crash.  
Now you know that it was a person who got you out, and that he was- is- very real.  
You gasp at the realization, peering more closely into the darkness to try to catch even a glimpse of his face. "Who is he?" you think, wonder lightening the shadows across your face.

"The accident." You speak aloud.  
You see a twinkle appear, beautifully white as snow. A smile.  
"That-that was you?"  
A nod in the dark, a shake of feathery hair.  
You stare incredulously. This boy was the one who saved you?  
"You saved me."

"Yeah. It was the least I could do. You always believed in me, even if you didn't know it. When you were younger. A certain Christmas special I hope you still treasure, although its a very different depiction of me."

Your furrowed eyebrows slowly unfold, complete amazement sparkling in your vibrant eyes. A childhood myth has just become reality.  
"Jack. Jack Frost."  
He emerges from the shadows. A blue hoodie frosted over in delicate patterns on his chest and arms, brown Capri pants with blue frost sprawled randomly, but stylishly, on the bottom.  
A handsome, playful grin topped with that lovely feathery hair the color of a fresh snowfall. A long hooked staff held casually in his right hand.

Despite the situation, you can't help but think he's exactly your type.  
"It's you!"  
You squeal in excitement. You want to add, "and you're just about the cutest guy I've ever seen!", but you reign yourself in. Gosh, how you felt like you were living a Fairytale. Jack Frost was totally like your knight in shining armor.  
"You're real!"

He nods, pulling further out of the shadows.  
"Yep. Real as can be."

He sits down next to you, setting his staff down on the floor next to him.  
Your heart pounds faster.

"So. Tell me more about this deal you struck with Pitch."

Straight to the point. You nervously twirl your long hair with your fingers. Now you really feel bad.  
"It wasn't really a deal. It was more like a 'do this or else I'll kill you' thing, like I told you."

"Huh. What'd he tell you to do?"  
You can't help but stare at his perfect eyes when he looks at you. Beautiful crystal blue, you could lose yourself in them in an instant. You briefly did.

"Um..." you awkwardly yank yourself out of your stupor. Jack raises an eyebrow but says nothing, to your great relief.  
"He said to get you to put a fraction of your power in this."  
You reach into your pocket and tenderly pull out the dark essence orb Pitch had given you. You wince as a strong scream whistles through the empty air, piercing your eardrums.

"An essence orb..."

You nod, covering the black surface with your wet sweatshirt. The screams become muffled under the weight of the material.  
"Pitch says you could insert some of your power in here. It doesn't have to be all of it."

Jack stares off into the distance, head on his hand.  
"No way."  
He seems afraid, and this unnerves you. He is obviously powerful, but still afraid of Pitch?

"What will it do to you? Pitch seemed fine."

Jack swallows, his face contorting into a subtle frown.  
"That orb won't absorb some of my power. It's made to drain it completely."  
A dead silence hangs briefly in the air between you, like misted fog on a fall morning. It's slightly awkward, and you can't help but think how perfect he looks.

"So..." you begin, shifting your eyes away from him and pretending you were staring intently down at your lap the whole time, "what would happen?"

Jack shakes his head, a few snowflakes drifting down in the process. His face looks wistful and sad, much different than the Jack you met a few seconds ago. He shrugs.  
"I don't know what'll happen to me."

"Huh..." you sigh.  
You suddenly remember one if your greatest concerns.  
"Oh! Um...can he hear us in here?"  
You ask nervously, fiddling with your hair again.

"Not sure. It's his lair, so I'd assume. Then again, I don't know if he'd be watching you. He probably thinks he scared you into submission and you'll do what he told you to no matter if he's watching or not. Plus, he has other... matters to attend to."  
He sounds angry, his eyebrows bending inwards on the bridge of his nose.

"He's even cute when he's angry," you think. You feel stupid, intent on staring at Jack in the midst of crisis.  
"What's wrong with me?"

"Do I have something on my face?"  
Jack unexpectedly asks, his eyebrows raised.  
Your eyes grow wide, your face flushing the color of a tomato- or darker.

"Oh. Uh, no. Why would you think that?"

He laughs, his voice sounding like deep, pleasant bells. A wonderfully comforting sound, reminding you instantly of Christmas.  
"I don't know, you've just been staring at me a bit."  
He pauses, staring upwards for a moment in thought.  
"Well, actually a lot."

"I-I have?"

"Yeah. Why?"

Even though you are mortified, you can't help but like how he isn't afraid to say anything. Honest. Sincere. Perfect.  
"Honestly?"  
You twiddle your fingers in your lap, the corners of your mouth turning up into a gentle smile.  
"You're really cute, Jack. And I've always really liked you since I was little. You saved me. Now that you're real..."  
You sigh dramatically, your eyes glistening with delight.  
"It's like... I'm living in a fairytale."  
You glance up at his face. A gorgeous mixture of shock and delight.

"Wow. Well, thanks. You aren't that bad either, damsel in distress."  
He winks, his grin stretching from ear to ear.

You giggle pleasantly, and he soon chimes in. You have never felt better. With him, even though you've only truly known him for a few minutes, you feel as if you could do anything, even face Pitch. For the first time that day you don't feel afraid.

"So, there's the matter of how we're getting out of here."  
You say, but your smile doesn't fade.  
Jack nods, his smile equaled to yours.

"There's a secret to this lair, a way out. I just haven't figured that out yet. And I doubt Pitch will let us out without that orb filled. He'll know when it's been done, feel the increase in his power."

"Hm..."  
You squint in concentration. You think of everything that's happened today, from Pitch capturing you to the nightmares, the bit he told you about belief, the essence orb, meeting Jack.  
And it dawns on you. Just like that.

"I think I understand!"  
You exclaim.  
"I know what to do."

Jack's smile grows as he stands, reaching his hand down to you.  
"Then lets do it."

_**Author's Note: There you have it! A little fluff for you here ;) Please review! **_


	4. A Lesson in Acting

"Okay," you say, brushing yourself off as you shakily stand. Beneath you, the cage shivers as if racked by an abyssal earthquake, and Jack's grip on your wrist helps to steady you. A flush of heat pirouettes on your cheeks. "Can you act?"

"Act?" He replies, raising his eyebrows. "Admittedly, I've never really tried."

"Hm...well, a little practice can't hurt."

"Practi...wait, what? Why?"

But you are already bustling about the cell, taking it's meager inhabitants and setting up a scene as Jack watches curiously. You sit a table with a broken leg straight against the frigid cell bars, careful not to let yourself get too close to the edge. For some reason, you feel secure in the thought that Pitch is not here. Maybe it's because his portentous presence isn't lurking in the nearby dank, but more likely it's the person behind you. Despite being cold, Jack is so far from it in personality.  
Finishing your mini-set, you spin on your heel and plant your hands firmly on your hips. "There," you say, a grin stretching on your face.

"Uh...what is it?" You pick up on a bit of discomfort in his tone as he shrugs sheepishly.  
"Well, it is only a table and a broken lamp," you remind yourself. "Like anyone would know what that is."

"It's a set," you explain, walking back over to him. "Now, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to pretend to be Pitch-"

Jack laughs, snowflakes shimmying from his powdery hair. "HA, I'll try to take that seriously."

"That's why it's called ACTING," you playfully scoff. "As I was saying, I'm going to pretend to be Pitch, and you are going to be...you."

"Aw, I don't get to play a part?" He sounds like a child deprived of a favorite toy.

"Buuuut," you drag out the word, "a different version of you. You're going to pretend to have put everything into that essence orb. Has Pitch ever successfully extracted essence from anyone before?"

Jack scratches his head for a moment, lifting his staff into a horizontal position in midair and sitting on top of it. You think that's wicked cool. "Not as far as I know. The other guardians are all whole and healthy."

"Other guardians?"

"Yeah! There's Tooth, North, Bunnymund, Sandy..."

"Wait," you say, scrunching your face. Your fingers dance excitedly, unearthing themselves from the icy prison in your sweatshirt. "Tooth- as in the tooth fairy, North as in..."

"Santa Clause."

"Bunnymund as in the Easter Bunny, and Sandy as in the...Sandman?"

"You got it," he grins cheekily. "We're all real."

"That's so awesome!" You can barely contain your excitement, and the cage rocks beneath your childish enthusiasm. But then another, terribly discomforting thought shoves its way past the exhilaration. "Wait...if they're not trapped here, then..."

Jack's smile fades as he realizes the question you're asking. "Why haven't they broken me out of here? Heh..." His staff sinks noticeably lower, although you don't think he realizes it. It's evident there must be something causing a rift between he and the other guardians.

"Do they not like you?," you ask, sitting back down on the floor for a moment. The blizzard had taken it's toll, and standing for too long still makes your stomach swirl with nausea and your head spin uncontrollably. Blinking the sickness away, you focus on Jack's voice to stabilize yourself.

"It's not that. They just don't like to acknowledge me, that's all. They pretty much think I'm useless. That, and Bunny and I have a sort of...rivalry."

When you raise an eyebrow, he laughs. Such a comforting sound- like coming in to hot chocolate and a warm fire after a day of fun out in the winter. Perfect.  
"Blizzard of '68."

"That was YOU?" Your eyes sparkle, swimming with excited galaxies.

"That was me!"

"My grandma always tells us the story of how Easter was nearly cancelled because of it."

"Right on. I love messing with Bunny."

Laughing like this, most people wouldn't realize the glimmer of sadness stinging his eyes, but you do. You can't imagine how it must feel to have others who are like you ignore you or shut you out like the guardians seem to do to him. Biting your lip, you tentatively place your hand on his. It's not cold as you expect, but warm, like any ordinary human being. He jumps slightly, not even realizing that he's floated back to the floor of the cell. His eyes burn into yours.

"I'm sorry, Jack."

His brows crease, wrinkles sifting through his pale skin. "What for?"

You give him a look that says "you know exactly what for," but explain yourself anyway. Perhaps having it in tangible words will help him. "I'm sorry that the other guardians ignore you."

"Nah, don't be." But you can tell you've struck a chord in him. "Not like it matters. They're right, I don't fit in with them. They're all believed in and loved by kids everywhere, but me? I'm nothing. Nobody believes in me."

Tears claw at your eyes, but you manage to keep your composure. Everything has melted away now- the cell, the grisly darkness, your internal barriers. All that you see is Jack, a lost boy looking for a way home. "How did this even happen to you?" You think to yourself, but you don't let the words surface. Now is not the time.

"But that's not true," you say, his eyes intertwining with your own. "I believe in you, right?"

All he does is stare for a moment, but slowly, light filters back into the beautiful crystal blue spheres you love to stare into. "Yeah...I guess you're right."

"Alright then," you grin, slowly working your way back up to a standing position again. "Lets start your first acting lesson, shall we?"

"Teach me, master."

He mirrors your movements, now standing mere inches away from you. Clearing your head of any other thoughts, you try not to focus on his features, but on the problem at hand. But by God, is he hot. You feel heat brushing you face and ears, and as embarrassing as they are, you can't keep the blushes from creeping up on you.

"Alright," you begin. "So, because Pitch has never actually felt what it's like to have an essence orb filled," you lower your voice, just in case,"we're going to trick him into thinking it is. I think that if you just put some snow in there- not your actual power- it'll confuse the orb and Pitch both."

Pondering this, the snowflakes on his hoodie glisten like stars in his faint blue aura. "Sounds like it'll work to me."

You nod. "Good. After that, I'm going to give it to Pitch. You just have to make sure you look weak. I'm not sure how we'll get out of here afterwards, though..."

Jack scoffs, throwing a thumb in his direction. "Leave that to me. What do I do?"

"Well, get on the ground. No flying, no snowflakes. We might have to rub them off your hoodie, actually."

Cringing at the thought, he slowly lowers himself to the ground, laying flat on his stomach with his feet crossed in the air. You follow suit, directly in front of him, head nested in your two of you are so close, your noses almost touch- so you awkwardly back away with a vast blush. Maybe you're imagining it, but you think he's blushing too- his hand scratches his head, and a snowflake nips your nose.

"Blink your eyes a lot, and slowly, like it's hard to see."

"Like this?"

"Not...quite," you giggle, watching him blink strangely. As hard as you try, you can't restrain the blush in your voice. It was almost like he was happiness itself, and being sad around him wasn't even possible.

A brief acting lesson and a bucket of fun later, both of you are ready to face Pitch. You're positive he has this; by the end, he almost convinced you he was dying.

"Ready?" He asks, tentatively staring at the orb in your hands. The nightmares within screech, and you cover one of your ears.

"Are you?"

He nods. "Now that I know what I'm doing, I can't wait to put on this show."

You watch, wonder and awe glossing your eyes as he shoots a stream of snow at the orb. It convulses, shivering, snapping, the nightmares biting back at the cold. Holding your breath, you both watch expectantly.

"Did it work?," you say, biting down on your lip and hugging your still-sopping body with one arm.

He slings his staff over his shoulder. "Only one way to find out."

_**Author's Note: This chapter is where I picked up the story after a few months, so apologies if it seems a little off in any way! Hope you're enjoying the story and as always please review!**_


	5. Spilled

A quiet, solemn breeze gnaws at your skin. In one hand, the essence orb sputters bile like a displeased child, and in the other, sweat flows down Jack's staff as you clutch it. Ripped from ice and snow, it looks like an ordinary old stick now, it's grainy, unpolished wood snapping at your raw palm. You clear your throat of rocks, your feet planted firmly against the aching metal of the cage. No backing out now.

"Pitch! I've done it!"

Your voice rumbles like crackling thunder against the bars, swishing back at you before dispersing into the abyss.  
When it dies, the silence it leaves lingers like a monster eyeing its prey in the darkness. For the second time that day, you don't have to act scared to look it- your lip is raw from gnawing, and your hair practically shivers, split ends clawing at your cheeks.

"Piiiiitch!"  
Your breath suddenly hitches as a gray hand latches onto your shoulder. The fingers purr like kittens, claws raking through the fraying knit of a day-antiqued Christmas sweater.

"I heard you the first time, dear. Patience is key."

Gulping, you sigh in relief as the hand disperses into dust. His touch is enough to make you want to crumble, and you know that one more second with him standing over you like that, and you would've.

"I'm glad you decided to cooperate," he says, now a large swish of ink in the air. You watch as he circles the cell, stopping to hover over Jack's feeble form. Splayed across the floor like he's been gruesomely broken, you have to hold back a beam of pride.

"So far, so good," you think to yourself, tearing at your lip. You hope by the end of this it'll still be intact and not completely lacerated from chewing.

A gust of frigid wind shoots through your bones as Pitch materializes fully, his gaze cast on Jack.  
"Not so powerful anymore, are you?" You cringe as Pitch holds out his palm, ashes prancing on it like children's toys. A nightmare gallops off, parading towards Jack with slavering jaws. Resisting the urge to yell at him to run, you bite your tongue. The following taste of iron is like swamp water, and you struggle to keep your stomach.

"P...Pitch," Jack weakly mutters. Moving his hand slower than a snail across the fine layer of water now lining the cage, he looks weaker than you ever thought possible. Ripples cascade across and nudge your toes. It was a great idea on his part to melt the thin ice sheet that covered the floor, but the water didn't help your feet; you feel more waterlogged now than ever.

"You won't get..." Jack coughs hoarsely, peering through clouded eyes at Pitch's shifting, predatory slits. "...away with this."

"Oh, come now. That's what they all say."

You blink furiously as Pitch's shrouds kiss the water like an ocean burial, and his gaze now falls to you. What disparate fears creep in the malicious wells planted in his face, you don't want to know. Crumpling your fists, you try not to get lost in the maze inside of them.

"The orb, my dear."  
His hand stretches for you. Trembling as if assaulted by another blizzard, you weakly mutter "here" and place it in his palm. He holds it aloft like a trophy, and his maniacal laughter devours the oxygen in the cage. "Thank you."

"W-what n-now?" Your voice sounds like a mouse to Pitch, squeaking and spewing worthlessness. His claws consume the orb in raking scratches; you fear what will happen should it break.

"Such beauty," he croons, completely ignoring you. Infatuated with it, he never peels his gaze away from the smooth surface. Your hair flops as you discreetly crane your neck to see behind Pitch's nightmare is now only inches away from Jack, and it's jaws are an open cavern rigged with stalagmites.

"Jack, now!" You think to yourself, but he doesn't even twitch. "What is he thinking?!"

"You know, I really expected both of you to put up more of a fight." Pitch steps closer to you, and for the moment, all thoughts of Jack are tossed aside. Cringing as his fingers nurse your wrist into a sickly ashen gray, you struggle not to break down into tears. "Especially from him."

"I-I knew it was best to cooperate," you stammer out.

"I find it amusing- how much you shrivel in fear."

"What...do you expect?" You try to tighten your vocal cords, but Pitch's presence melts them like iron ingots in a furnace. Never in your life have you felt so utterly hopeless- you can practically taste the blood that is sure to come.

"Nothing less. Doesn't change the fact that it is so...engrossing."

Mustering up what little courage remains in your waning reserves, you manage a sharp insult. "You're sick," you spit.

"Oh, what nice compliments you give me," he replies with a dusty laugh. Inwardly, you cringe at the fact that the opposite effect that was intended has taken hold. Maybe if you called him a rainbow-loving unicorn it would be better? Regardless, you are ripped from your thoughts as he slithers close to you, nestling your chin in the palm of his hand. His nails feel like knives threatening to take chunks from your flesh.  
"I almost want to keep you..." Snatching your chin away from his grip, he recoils slightly, dramatic flair shining his lips as his features stretch into a feigned smile. How much longer must he cruelly castigate you like this? Even though it is far from discrete, you can't help but cast nervous glances Jack's way every few moments. Is he really...did something go wrong? You almost draw your nails up to your lips, but fear has petrified them in a magnetic field.

"However," Pitch continues, tossing the orb in his hand, "your maintenance is far too high. Looks like there's only one option left for you, sweetheart."

Horror snips at your heart as tendrils of ink begin to sweep down your back, hungry leeches fastening goosebumps into your skin. The cage around you rumbles with power, and you stumble to keep your composure from slipping through the bars and into one of the vacant, eager skeletons beyond. You bite your lip, but the rattle crippling your bones hurts so much, you can't help but cry out.  
"What are you going to do to me?"

Not surprisingly, he ignores the words and hungrily digests your eyes- wide and emanating droves of nerves-instead. "Is Jack seeing this?", you wonder, watching your fingers grow pale from clutching your arms so tightly. As he may be your only hope now, this single thought tries to hammer through the ruckus of chaos and to the front of your mind. But it's hard to concentrate on when a cat is toying with your life like you're a ball of yarn to be unraveled, inch by painful inch, until all that's left of you is a memory. You try in vain to shove the dark thoughts back into oblivion.

"So, tell me." With Pitch now so close you can taste his rancid breath, you struggle to edge backwards, but something viscous clings to your feet- as if you've stepped in syrup. Afraid of what grotesque illusion may be below, you refuse to look.

As he draws ever nearer, Pitch's grin is so humorlessly sadistic, you feel puke climbing up the walls of your throat. Gross.  
...on second thought, would throwing up on him be such a bad idea? In a moment, you scold yourself for such foolery. It would be a death sentence.

"What," he continues, his fox grin consuming your trembling form, "is...your...greatest...fear?"

"Don't let yourself think," you mutter, grasping a wayward string on the sleeve of your sweatshirt. "Don't let him know."  
But even the notion of a nightmare is a good enough seed in the soil of this wretched place. Before you understand what's happening, you're watering the sprout like your life is rooted to it, and Pitch's orbs of shimmering dust are the sunlight. Suddenly, all is stiller than the grave. Enveloped in fear, you don't even realize that your eyes have screwed themselves into shuttered windows. "Is he...," you begin, gnawing at your chapped lips. "No. It's a trick. He wants you to look."

But fear is a tricky player. With your eyes closed, the world whistles taunts around you, and you can't see to defend yourself. "Defend yourself," your instincts plead. Unable to keep them closed any longer, they flutter open.

"There you go," Pitch laughs. Bouncing off of the walls of the cage, his voice dies into a deep rumble coming from the abyss below. Your head rocks back and forth to find him out, but he is nowhere and everywhere all at once. All-knowing, consuming, and convulsing- he is the darkness itself. What a fool you had been!

"C-come out, coward!"  
You know that it's in vain. Pitch has pushed your pawn to the edge of a cliff, and he's about to slide you clean off the chessboard.

As if he can read your thoughts, the miscreant voice growls, "checkmate," and countless voiceless lemmings trace it. Suddenly, thousands upon thousands of eyes are staring at you and only you, crisp with yellow crust and narrowed at their prey through the bars. Gulping down your heart, you back up to the center of the cage, your desperation fighting through the petrifaction.

"You can't win Pitch!," you blurt, helplessly searching for words. Feet away from you, Jack still doesn't stir, and the nightmare is well upon him. It's paws rake against the metal through the water layer like dough, carving holes in the already tarnishing cell while it's jaws continue to thicken with hungry saliva.

"Oh, gosh," you mutter. Only one choice.

Gathering what strength remains, you glance around the darkness and try to avoid the billions of glowing eyes. "JACK, LOOK OUT!"

You resist the urge to sob as he finally glances up at you, his eyes widening when he sees how close the creature stalking over him is. Clenching his teeth, he propels himself off of the floor, creating an ice sheet that crackles with fragility under his touch. Are the nightmares really affecting him? Only a weak smile manages to cross his face.

"Jack," you cry. "Thank god you're o-"  
Your voice is cut short as horror bites hard into your words. A desolate groan rocks the cage, and you swear you can hear the ticking of a clock. The dripping of sand in a precarious hourglass, the steady outflow of vigor from life's riverbed.

"What's the matter, Jack?" Pitch says, his ghastly features stretched into a sadistic grin as he stands behind the boy. Your knees threaten to buckle under the stress of seeing him like this, hanging as loosely as a rag doll in Pitch's grip.  
"Think I didn't hear your little plan? I thought you were smarter than that."

Jack gasps as Pitch pulls away, shoving him to the ground in a grand splash ringing with the reverberations of rusted metal. In the light of Pitch's eyes, you catch a glimpse of an ebony blade stained with ink and your face becomes ash. All you can do is stare at Jack- his face pale-blue and half-submerged in water- as the purity of the pool is tainted a deathly crimson that spreads wider by the second.  
"_?," he mumbles.

_**Author's Note: Cliffhanger! *dun dun duuuunnnnn***_

_**I did it- I hurt Jack Frost. xD Sorry reader! But you'll do something about it, right? There's no way you'll let Pitch get away with this! ;) Please review! **_


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